


To Protect His Eyes From Learning

by silverlining99



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:04:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freedom is the mastery of the known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Protect His Eyes From Learning

**Author's Note:**

> km_anthology 2011 pinch hit for blindfolds. Title and summary from The Kings of Convenience's "Freedom and Its Owner."

The first time McCoy barks out, "Lights, five percent," right in the middle of things getting hot and heavy at last, Jim lets it go. He's got enough on his mind as it is, what with being more than a little buzzed, _way_ more than a little horny, and absolutely fucking thrilled that McCoy's response to his ill-considered lurch into a lip smashing kiss wasn't to cuff him on the shoulder and tell him to go sleep it off, but was instead to shove him up against the dresser and grind wantonly against him as he devoured Jim's mouth.

Besides, now that they've hit the bed and he's struggling to get McCoy's damn pants open so he can stop drooling over thoughts of the man's cock and suck the real deal already, whether the lights are on or off is kind of the least of his concerns. Jim is nothing if not a prioritizer.

The second time it's not an issue at all. Jim wakes up with morning sun filtering in through the shades and McCoy's hand wrapped around his cock, leisurely stroking him to orgasm with his face tucked tight against Jim's back, between his shoulder blades. McCoy's cock is wedged between Jim's legs, thrusting into the dry, close space. Jim groggily watches the movement of McCoy's hand on him and comes hard just as McCoy's thumb sweeps over the head of his cock in a graceful stroke.

And it's no big deal, he figures the next time (and the next, and the next). There's plenty of newness here to be explored, learning the contours of McCoy's body and the ways to make him gasp and sputter and arch under Jim's hands. There's feeling it out to be done, and a little thing like the _lights_ isn't a distraction worth dealing with.

Right away, at least. He does mull it over in his spare time, the perfectly timed, gritty, confident call for everything to go dark and obscure. It's not that he thinks it _matters_ that much; it reeks of habit more than anything else. A weird habit as far as he's concerned, always doing it in the dark, but whatever. Some people are weird.

Jim sure as hell knows he's no exception to that rule.

But still. Rules. Meant to be broken and all. So he's not exactly expecting the resistance he gets one night when he presses fingers to McCoy's mouth, cuts him off at "Lights." McCoy shoves his hand away and scowls, finishes snapping out the rest of the command so that the room falls into a deep, inky darkness cut only by the faintest glow of light.

"Lights," Jim says bluntly, rolling his eyes while he knows he can still get away with it. "Seventy percent."

The room goes almost obnoxiously bright. " _Lights_ ," McCoy snaps back. "Five. Fucking. Percent."

"Please repeat the command parameters," the computer chirps out.

Jim sits up, abandoning his half-completed task of getting McCoy's pants off. "Dude," he says gravely. "What the _fuck_ is with you and the lights?"

"I like it 'em off," McCoy insists.

"Yeah, well," Jim says, feeling suddenly cross, "I'd like to be able to _see_ the hot piece of ass I'm banging for once. You're not exactly paper bag over the head material, Bones."

McCoy throws him a look that conveys nothing so much as pure disgust at his blatant immaturity. "Classy, Jim."

Jim flashes a tight, sarcastic smile. "Always. Wait, am _I_ bag material, is that it? Holy shit, you find me off-putting and gross, don't you?"

"Yes," McCoy growls. "That's exactly it, Jim. You thoroughly disgust me and aren't at all the most mind-boggling attractive son of a bitch I've ever laid eyes on. Fuck you."

Jim can't help it, takes a second to preen at the back-handed compliment before huffing out a sigh and flopping back down next to McCoy. "Then what? What the hell _is_ it? I know you're not shy, you have _no_ problem strutting around in a towel and letting me ogle everything God gave you -- "

"I do not _strut_. That's called getting fucking dressed, Jim, not putting on a show for your entertainment. _Christ_."

"Whatever, you totally knew I was looking every single time. So why's it only bother you now that I wanna look _and_ touch?"

With a long-suffering groan, McCoy grinds the heels of his hands against his eyes. "It's not about you looking, all right? Look your fill, I don't give a damn. It's -- _I_ don't like to look."

Jim stares at the ceiling, chews his lower lip. "I am back to feeling hideously unattractive," he finally announces. "I think I'm going to have to fling myself into the bay out of utter despair."

"Oh, shut your trap," McCoy says crossly. He moves unexpectedly, rolling into and over Jim, his weight pressing Jim down. Jim stares up at him and he stares right back, steadily. "Keep your eyes open."

Easy enough. Jim watches as McCoy leans in, watches McCoy's eyelids flutter shut just before their mouths lock together and McCoy groans softly, tongue sweeping between Jim's lips. McCoy's hands cup his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, fingers kneading into the sides of his neck, and he tips Jim's head gradually as he kisses across his chin and jaw in a blind exploration. When he reaches Jim's ear, he learns the shape of with the tip of his tongue and finally sucks the lobe between his lips, scrapes it with his teeth.

"I look at bodies every goddamn day," he mutters at last. He nudges his hips down, thrusts against Jim's trapped, aching cock. "Inside and out, I _look_ at them. With you, with _this_ \-- I like not looking, all right. I like closing my eyes and figuring you out by touch alone. I like fumbling through it and _feeling_ you respond. The dark helps with that, that's it."

Jim whines at the back of his throat as McCoy rocks against him again, hit unexpectedly hard by the idea that all of this is about McCoy wanting him to be _different_ in some way, wanting to make a tactile buffet of him. "Bones," he gasps, stretching his neck to expose it to McCoy's wandering lips. "Let me up, I -- okay. We're good. Hey. I want to try something."

McCoy pauses, finishes sucking a harsh mark into Jim's skin before rolling off with a sigh. He opens his eyes again and throws a wary look Jim's way. "What?"

Jim grins at him. "Just being smarter than you, that's what." He crawls out of bed, stripping off his shirt as he goes, and smirks when he catches what is _definitely_ an appreciative expression cross McCoy's face. "So you _do_ think I'm hot. Nice to know."

"Arrogant dick," McCoy mutters. "Yes, Jim. You're fucking gorgeous and you know it. All too well, I might add."

With a cheerful shrug, Jim rummages in one of his drawers. "Still good to be reminded now and then." He frowns, not finding anything suitable, then shrugs again and plucks an old sweatshirt out. "Clothes off," he tosses over his shoulder, crossing to his desk to hunt down some scissors.

By the time he turns back to the bed, McCoy has gotten naked and is sprawled out without a lick of shame or embarrassment, has a hand wrapped loosely around his erection. Jim stops short, takes a second just to drink in the sight. "See, now, I could watch you do that all _day_ ," he breathes happily.

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Positions reversed, so could I. It's when we're touching, Jim. I just like to be able to block everything else out. Doesn't mean I don't like the sight of you every other minute."

"'Kay. Fair enough." Jim crawls back onto the bed and holds up the long strip of soft fabric he just cut from his sweatshirt. "So! We'll make sure you can't see a thing, and I can see anything I want. Everybody wins."

McCoy's gaze goes dark and heavy with interest. He nods sharply and sits up to let Jim wind the cloth around his head, carefully positioning it over his eyes before tying it off tightly. "Good?"

McCoy nods again, hands fumbling out to find Jim's body and sweep slowly along his torso. "Perfect," he says tightly, like the air he needs is stuck low in his chest. "Jim -- "

"Lights," Jim says firmly. "Eighty percent." He draws himself out of McCoy's grasp, hopping to his feet so that he can shimmy out of his jeans. "See, where we're different? I can't fucking get _enough_ of looking at you like this. And I gotta admit, never really thought of blindfolds as a visual perk, but I'm getting an unexpected bonus here. Lie down."

With a stifled groan, McCoy falls back onto the pillow. His hands curl in tense fists at his sides, fingers catching and worrying at the sheets. Jim stares down at him, at the rise and fall of his chest, at the dusky redness of his cock and the sheen of moisture leaking from the tip. He licks his lips and climbs over McCoy, caging him between hands and knees. "Fuckin' hot," he mumbles, and dips his head to latch without warning onto one of McCoy's nipples.

McCoy reacts lightning fast, breath hitching, hands coming up to scrape into Jim's hair and hold him in. Jim sucks his nipple into a hard, pebbled peak and plays it between his teeth, rolls his eyes up to watch McCoy go slack-jawed and panting. He doesn't _get_ it, really he doesn't, the very notion of not just willingly but insistently giving up this part, rejecting it, the visual cues and rewards and god, just every inch of skin laid out before him. Every tremble and twitch and heave, the faint glimmer of a breaking sweat, every angle and plane and flawless stretch and divot and scar and patch of hair. "Bones," he whispers.

In a surprise move, McCoy suddenly twists beneath him, rolling hard and flipping Jim onto his back. Jim laughs shakily, a breathy sound that trails off, stuck in his throat, as he catches sight of McCoy's furrowed brow, the twist of concentration in his features as he slides their bodies together and catches Jim's mouth in a kiss that starts off-center but quickly gets on track to be deep and wet and hungry. McCoy skims his hands along Jim's sides, slowly, meandering paths that explore at a leisurely pace until he grips Jim's thighs and tugs his legs up so that he can settle, slot his cock behind Jim's and rut down. "Feels good," he mutters. "Fuck, Jim, you _feel_ good."

A whooping, resounding klaxon of understanding goes off in Jim's mind, sudden and unexpected. He snickers sharply and wraps his legs high around McCoy. "God, you really mean it," he laughs. "You fucking touch _whore_ , Bones, you really do just eat this _up_ \-- "

"Shut up," McCoy snarls. His hips snap hard and Jim groans at the friction and pressure. "You're gonna fuck me," he hisses against Jim's lips. "Enjoy yourself all you want, watching your dick sink into me. I'll be having a goddamn ball _feeling_ every inch of it without a single thing to take away from that."

Something about that hits Jim like a ton of bricks, the thought of the both of them getting exactly what they want. "Off, off," he pants. "Fuck, Bones, you can't say shit like that and then make me _wait_ \-- "

With a sharp smile that only serves to highlight the red flush in his cheeks beneath the dark grey strip of cloth over his eyes, McCoy gives him one last thorough kiss before hoisting himself off and letting Jim take over. "All right, then," he drawls lazily. "Get on with it already."

Jim practically leaps for the lube. He's always exceedingly fond of this part, of sitting back on his heels and opening a partner one finger at a time, of watching a body ease and stretch and make way to accommodate him. "You _look_ fucking amazing," he notes cheerfully, thumbing and smearing moisture across the head of McCoy's cock as he rubs two fingers against his prostate and makes him squirm. "That's right, move for me. _Show_ me how much you like this."

"Son of a bitch," McCoy grinds out, thrusting into Jim's loose grip. His face is blotchy and shiny and his teeth drag across his lower lip, biting and plumping it. "Jim, c'mon, I want to feel you in me, give it to me -- "

Jim slicks his cock in a hurry and presses the head against McCoy, holds his legs up and pressed back while he tucks his knees in close and stares raptly down at his cock disappearing into McCoy. "See, here's the thing," he says raspily. "Your ass? Totally the hottest one I've ever had. And with my cock in it? I could seriously look all day. It's like _art_ , Bones."

"Oh my god, shut _up_ ," McCoy says. Jim regrets the blindfold only to the extent that it hides the ire he _knows_ should be flashing delightfully in McCoy's eyes right now. "I swear, if you ever refer to my ass as a goddamn work of art again, I will -- "

"Put it in the air, close your eyes, and let me fuck it to my heart's content?" Jim snaps his hips forward and buries himself in McCoy, relishes the harsh grunt that bursts out in response. "I've got your number now, Bones, I bet if I so much as skimmed a finger across your neck you'd be panting for it -- can't believe I never _noticed_ \--"

"I hate you," McCoy groans. He levers his thighs down against Jim's grip and wraps his legs around Jim's hips, reaches blindly to grasp for Jim's body and drag it down over him. His hands spread widely across Jim's back, palms stretched over muscles that bunch and flex as Jim plants his hands on the mattress and lets his hips and back do the work of driving his cock into McCoy again and again, spurred on by watching McCoy beneath him, flushed and writhing. " _Fuck_ , Jim, harder, make me feel it, make me fucking _take_ it, you bastard."

Jim slaps into him as hard as he can. McCoy takes it beautifully, a rash of red spreading across his chest, and he grips his own cock, jerks it furiously. "Come for me," Jim gasps. "Wanna see you come, Bones, show me, I've been wanting to know what you look like when I make you come --"

McCoy outright whines as his cock pulses, stripes his chest and stomach with ropes of come. Jim moans and can't stop himself from curling down and lapping at the mess, tongue scraping across McCoy's skin and making him shudder as he keeps milking his cock dry. "So hot," Jim mumbles, licking and biting, grinding his cock deep as the ache builds and takes over until it rushes through him in a roar, orgasm whiting out his vision for a second. "Holy shit."

McCoy pats his back as he goes limp and heavy. "Enjoyed that, I take it," he says dryly, reaching up to shove the fabric off his eyes. Jim lifts his head and peers fuzzily at him, and McCoy's lips quirk in a slight smile. "I'll say this for you, Jim, you give one hell of a lot of sensory input."

"Ungh," Jim says intelligently. "You -- fuck. Get used to being blindfolded, Bones, we are never turning the lights out _again_."

McCoy rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever works. Get off me, would you? You're heavy."

"Thought you liked that."

"Time and a place, Jim. When my dick's not hard, you're pretty much dead weight." Jim pouts but shifts off, and McCoy immediately arranges him to tuck together closely, catching Jim's mouth in a long kiss. "Can we turn the lights off _now_? I'm tired."

Jim grins. "Lights!" he calls cheerfully. "Off!"


End file.
